


Sacred Heart Coin

by Tridraconeus



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blowjobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Coercion, Crying, Death, Drug Use, Fighting, Guilt, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: “I believe I have something of yours.”Something catching the light drew his eye, not to the blade, but above; half-hidden under the Ghostface’s hand. Chain. His necklace was wrapped around the hilt of the knife. Frustration and anger bubbled up in his chest, both that the Ghostface had taken his necklace and that he’d put it on his knife like it was a fucking trophy. It must have shown on his face; the Ghostface tittered, grip on the knife sliding all the way to the end of the hilt to show off the whole length of the necklace.“You wanna come get it?” He flipped the knife around easily, the crucifix and coin flopping stiffly in the air.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Quentin Smith
Comments: 10
Kudos: 108





	Sacred Heart Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Sacred Heart Coin: Charm that when you put it on you get tunneled to death in 9/10 games. I’m not salty. Here’s some porn.  
> Danny is a greasy man.

Quentin was fond of Coldwind, as fond as he could be of a grim murder-realm where he just seemed to die over and over. If not for the sacrificial hooks, rusted generators, and the Killer, he could almost believe he was wandering around a derelict farm with friends. 

Before he could sink too deeply into the fantasy, someone screamed out in pain to his right and he bolted. The generator sparked and fizzled behind him, belching out a cloud of sparks and smoke that would never ignite the corn stalks around it, even though it _should_. Meg, his mind placed when she screamed again, and again. She was being killed. He didn’t get it. She’d been _fine_ just a moment ago. 

He jumped through a window, sprinting through the eerie slaughterhouse and ducking behind a hanging cow. The room stank of stale blood, molding hay, still water. Mildew and rotting canvas. The Entity must like this room, then, to pay so much attention to the proper reproduction of it. As offensive as the room smelled the urge to gag passed him by completely. 

A good thing. The Killer was close. His heart beat loudly entirely out of his control. He pressed his mouth into the back of his wrist, nails digging into his palm. 

Nothing, then. Sudden silence except for his own muffled breathing. Had he gotten lucky? Quentin wasn’t a lucky person. He took his lumps and there were always a few more laying in wait for whenever he thought he’d escaped the thick of it. He waited another ten seconds to make sure he’d been passed by before coming out from behind the cow corpse, still hunkered down. 

He turned the corner right into black leather and barely had enough time to register-- _fuck, Ghostface_ \-- before he turned and sprinted the other way. Things started falling together shortly after that; Meg’s sudden, undignified death, why it felt like the skin on his back was burning this entire trial. 

He threw himself through the window of the slaughterhouse.

The knife caught him on the back of the neck-- the shoulder. It sliced straight through the chain of his necklace, sending it skittering across the floor. He fell hard through the windowframe onto his front on the dusty ground. It knocked the remaining breath out of him that the stab itself hadn’t. He heaved himself forward on reflex, but he couldn’t stop the Ghostface from vaulting through the window after him with a chiding _tut_. The dull metal of the necklace flashed in the scant light.

The Ghostface straddled him, chest heaving in a subdued laugh. One of his hands pressed Quentin to the floor at his shoulder, and the next second explosive pain ripped through his chest. He screamed. He reached out uselessly for his necklace, hoping that it would stay with him if he was holding it as he died. 

He came back to himself at the campfire. He hadn’t gotten the necklace. 

“Hey, Quentin.” Meg came to sit down next to him, putting a hand on his knee. He went to fiddle with the crucifix; it was gone. Of course it was gone. 

Thinking of something to say yielded absolutely nothing, so he sighed instead and begged off soon after to forage. 

It was just a necklace, a crucifix and a sacred heart coin on a silver chain, and logically Quentin knew that losing it because he’d died-- been brutally murdered-- didn’t make him any less observant and/or worthy of salvation, but it was something to fiddle with when he was anxious or his thoughts were racing. Now that it was gone, he ended up twisting his fingers into the collar of his vest. It wasn’t the same. A few trials went by, nothing punctuated by terror followed by more nothing with another long stretch of exhaustion thrown in for flavor, and he used up all the good stuff in his stash and had to go out and get more. 

For medical supplies, he inevitably ended up in Léry’s Memorial Institute. The Doctor-- didn’t _like_ him, but _tolerated_ him, maybe found him amusing like a lab rat that had discovered something novel to do, and so let him filch things from the Institute so long as he wasn’t obvious or loud about it. As far as he knew, he was the only one from the campfire bold enough to go to Léry’s in the first place. _Maybe_ the only one. It wasn’t any of his business.

He dug through cabinets and boxes, thoughts washed away by the familiar pawing motions of pushing empty jars and boxes of sharps and rubber gloves out of the way. 

“Look who’s skulking around.” 

Quentin pulled his hand out of the cabinet, startling. Behind him? His pockets were basically empty. He’d found some old adhesive bandages, a spool of surgical sutures, and a needleful of adrenaline that he’d already injected to stay awake. Dying wouldn’t be a huge setback. 

_Mask._ His blood ran hot, then cold. He slammed the cabinet door shut and shot to his feet, pressing his back against the counter like that might help. If the Ghostface had wanted to stab him, he could have done that while he was raiding the cabinet and too jittery from the adrenaline to notice someone else in the room with him. 

Him being untouched meant something worse. If the Ghostface didn’t _mean_ to run into Quentin and didn’t want anything from him, he would have just passed by and Quentin would have never known he was there. He wanted something. That, in itself, the Ghostface _wanting_ something, set him on edge. The man took a step forward, intruding into the chilly room.

“I believe I have something of yours.”

Something catching the light drew his eye, not to the blade, but above; half-hidden under the Ghostface’s hand. Chain. His _necklace_ was wrapped around the hilt of the knife. Frustration and anger bubbled up in his chest, both that the Ghostface had taken his necklace and that he’d put it on his knife like it was a fucking _trophy_. It must have shown on his face; the Ghostface tittered, grip on the knife sliding all the way to the end of the hilt to show off the whole length of the necklace.

“You wanna come get it?” He flipped the knife around easily, the crucifix and coin flopping stiffly in the air.

He was being baited. It was so obvious it wasn’t even a bait. A taunt, maybe. If he got close, he’d get stabbed. He knew if he died outside of a trial he’d just get shoved back to the campfire eventually; Krueger taught him that. If he was going to get stabbed, he needed to get stabbed badly enough to die. If he was going to _win_ this, he needed to get the knife. 

The Ghostface was staring at him with his head slightly tilted, like he knew the exact type of risk/reward number-crunching that was going on in Quentin’s head. 

“You could try asking nicely for it,” he offered innocently after deciding that Quentin wasn’t stupid or ballsy enough to take the bait.

Well, fuck him. The adrenaline and his loosely-reined emotions made his blood burn and his brain feel like it was wringing itself out. He allowed incandescent fury to push away the fear and lunged. 

The Ghostface did not expect that. He gasped as Quentin collided with his middle, one hand snapping around his knife wrist with an iron grip and the other balling in leather straps. One knee found his gut. They both hit the floor. Quentin squeezed as hard as he could, winning another gasp, and the knife clattered onto the linoleum. Both of them made a grab for it, neither succeeding and sending it spinning away. 

The Ghostface was strong; the Entity saw to that. He was good at kicking down struggle when his victim was surprised. He liked an upper hand. Quentin had never known someone who was such a literal _backstabber_. He and Krueger liked to play games. Everything was a shitty, _stupid_ game to them and they were both _massive_ fucking sore losers. 

He rolled over and punched the Ghostface, but it was lost in folds of leather. The adventurous tendrils were wrapping around his arms and while they weren’t hard to break free from, he didn’t want to know what would happen if he let them tighten. 

Fuck, he should have just sucked up and said please. Adrenaline was a _liar_. The rush of decisive energy that aided him in bowling over the Ghostface was gone now, fizzled into a squirrely, frantic ache. 

The Ghostface got a lucky hit in, bludgeoning him hard enough to knock him off for a moment. That moment was all he needed to swivel around and grab the knife again, and while Quentin was still recovering, to pounce on him and get the upper hand again. The hilt of the knife knocked his temple, lodged into the cabinet next to him, was yanked out in a shower of sawdust and splinters, nearly clipped him-- he was too frenetic for it to hit. He hadn’t been pinned properly, and hadn’t been beaten within an inch of his life, and the Ghostface must have gotten complacent and lazy with the Entity’s help.

Or else he was playing. That made him feel less viciously amused and more terrified. 

Definitely playing, Quentin decided as the Ghostface grabbed him by the ankle to flip him over onto his front and drop on top of him. 

From there, it was as simple as getting his knife to Quentin’s throat. He went limp, groaning and glaring. 

“That wasn’t very nice,” he chided. “And here I was trying to be considerate.”

Quentin let his head loll to the side, panting and breathless in a way he never got in trials. The cold blade rested against his throat. He could feel it bite in whenever he took a heaving breath, but it wasn’t held firm enough to cut. The pressure was just enough that he knew it was there, knew he couldn’t get away. He hated that more than the pain. 

“Wanna try again?” 

Quentin bared his teeth. It didn’t do anything. It didn’t even make him feel better. All it did was make the Ghostface press the blade against his throat until he stopped and looked away again. 

_Jam yourself up into the blade_ , he thought. _End it now._

If he did that, he’d never get the necklace back. He forced himself to sound a measure less disgusted and enraged and terrified than he was and managed a “please give me my necklace back.” 

“Well, I would have given it back to you if you’d tried that first, but it’s not _good_ enough now.” He had the gall to sound disappointed. The knife dug in. 

“Please,” Quentin tried again even though he knew it wasn’t going to work. “It’s important to me.” 

“Important to you, huh?” The knife lifted away a bit. Gloved fingers slid the chain off of the hilt and played with it, the blank eyeholes of the mask staring down at Quentin. “My name’s Jed. I’ll let you try again, ‘cause I’m _nice_.”

“Please. Jed.” The name tasted sour on his tongue. “I’m sorry for attacking you. Give my necklace back. Please.”

He had to be leering past the mask. Quentin bit back another snarl. He hated him _so much_.

“I’ve got something you want.” He played with the chain, twisting it around his fingers. “So how about you give me something I want? We can trade.” 

Again, he was being baited. Again, he walked right into it, this time because he had no choice. He had a good idea what Jed would try to trade for; he was hard against Quentin’s middle, erection tenting his pants. There was something about being trapped inside the Entity that made people a sucker for _desire_ and things that just felt _good,_ anything interesting that broke the usual mold of endless suffering no matter what brand new suffering it was, so he swallowed back his revulsion. He’d rather it be him than someone else.

“What do you want?” 

Jed let the chain slip through his fingers until the cool metal of the crucifix rested on Quentin’s throat, cold against the prickling heat left by the knife. It was so close he wanted to cry. Jed leaned down, dragging the necklace down Quentin’s chest until he balled it in his fist again and took it back. “I want you to get on your knees and suck me off,” he whispered, a purr in Quentin’s ear. He was gentle now that he was getting what he wanted. It turned Quentin’s stomach, but he couldn’t deny that the newfound gentleness was a relief. His voice was smooth, could be soothing and pleasant under the right circumstances. The knife reappeared at Quentin’s cheek to trace a furrowed scar. He was suddenly aware of how swamped he was by the scent of musky, dizzyingly heavy cologne. “Then I’ll give you back your little necklace. _If_ you do a good job.”

“Fine,” he bit out. The knife poked between his skin and his beanie, pushing it onto the ground. Quentin knew better than to go for it. Jed huffed out a laugh and shifted off of him, rising to his feet and offering Quentin a hand that he stubbornly refused to take. He didn’t even bother to get to his feet. He got to his knees and stayed there. Jed’s hand settled in his hair.

“I know you would’ve ended up giving David a blowjob if you hadn’t called the whole thing off, so don’t pretend this isn’t something you’ve thought of.” Jed idly tugged his hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make his heart race.

He’d _almost_ slept with David before, but it was something he’d just kind of fallen into; he’d been so exhausted and drowsy that he’d been completely undressed by the time he realized they weren’t just lazily pawing at each other. The thought that someone besides David had seen that made him feel sick. The thought that _Jed_ had seen it made him feel like he was about to cry.

“And no teeth.” 

Seemingly oblivious to his discomfort— perhaps enjoying it— Jed guided his head close until his nose nudged a significant bulge in his pants. 

Quentin unbuckled both belts with shaking, clumsy hands, then got his button and zipper. Getting closer to the hard lump he could feel, knew was _there_ , made his chest tighten. Maybe he was lightheaded from the sudden overpowering wave of cologne, maybe he was genuinely looking forward to this because he was fucked up and hadn’t done so much as touch himself discreetly since he’d come here, but his mouth watered. He swallowed it and fished Jed’s cock out of his trousers. 

Aside from being tall and appropriately proportional, Jed was solidly average. He’d been _enjoying_ himself so much that shiny droplets of pre beaded at the tip of his cock. He was cut, which Quentin really expected— he cut himself off before he could go on a mental tangent about foreskin and circumcision and the merits of each. 

Jed’s cock was hot in his hand. It was perhaps the one part of him that didn’t smell like cologne, just sweat and skin. He gave him a few tentative pumps to avoid having to actually put his mouth close yet. Jed seemed reasonably happy to let him fumble and stall and just stood there with his gloved fingers gently rubbing Quentin’s scalp. That felt good. He didn’t _like_ that it felt good. 

Quentin considered himself experienced with dicks, but it was different when it was another man’s dick. Was he cheating on Nancy by doing this? It was surreal. _Sorry, Nancy, but in Hell I gave a blowjob to a guy whose job it is to kill us because he took my necklace the last time he killed me_. Fucking weird. He wanted to cry again, but pushed it down and forced himself to drag his tongue against the head of Jed’s cock. His precum was salty and otherwise nondescript, but he was eager and there was a _lot_ of it. Not really knowing what he should do next, he stuck his tongue out and followed the lines of pre until Jed finally let out a soft, restrained moan. 

His hand relocated from Jed’s cock to his thigh. Jed’s hand in his hair tightened, and Quentin tightened right back, but the grip loosened almost immediately. 

Quentin made a strangled whimpering noise that he barely caught and took Jed halfway into his mouth to muffle anything else. Maybe he just knew that Quentin would balk if he got rough. Maybe he’d guessed that being too mean would scare him off. There was no way he knew, was there? There was no way he knew what Krueger had done to him, yanked him back by the hair and slammed him into the pipes, his whole face exploding in pain and stars popping in his head and in his vision. Blood. Always blood. Chest cut open, shoulder stabbed through, Nancy screaming in the distance. 

He was shaking. He was just kind of sitting there with Jed’s cock halfway in his mouth, shaking, and he was crying. The hand in his hair gentled once more and a similarly gentle hand thumbed tears from his cheek. 

“Just focus in on me.” Underneath Jed’s patient encouragement Quentin heard irritation. Jed’s index finger followed the lines of scars on his face, stopping where one bisected his lip and holding there. Quentin knew he was embarrassingly red and flushed; the cool leather brushing over his lip only proved it. 

Jed’s hand pulled back, but Quentin only noticed that when he heard a camera shutter above him. He didn’t flinch, which he might have if he wasn’t already half-expecting it, but he looked up to fix Jed with a _look_.

“What? How could you expect me to not when you look so good?” 

From his tone Quentin knew Jed was grinning, and he took another picture while Quentin was looking up at him. He looked down again. He should just tear himself away and leave; he was confident that Jed wouldn’t stop him. A necklace wasn’t worth his dignity. 

It was, though, maybe. If he left now he had no doubts Jed would hunt him down and try to extract an even greater price for it.

Jed was poison. He knew he’d buckle to it eventually. Better to keep his head down-- literally-- and get it over with. 

“You work ethic could use some work, though.” His hand scruffed Quentin’s hair, breaking Quentin out of whatever spell he’d been in. He managed a halfhearted bobbing motion. He wasn’t really sure what to do with his tongue-- there wasn’t enough room for it in his mouth now that it had to share space with Jed’s cock. Jed didn’t seem to mind his less-than-graceful advances as long as he was trying.

“Sure you’ve never done this before?” Jed teased. Quentin stupidly tried to respond and mumbled something around Jed’s cock. “Yeah, you’re a cutie.” 

He let Quentin fumble around for a few minutes, sighing softly whenever he did something particularly well. He had a sensitive spot right under the head of his cock and Quentin kept running his tongue over it, pushing the flat of his tongue against his length, and that made Jed lazily thrust into Quentin’s mouth. His knees were starting to hurt; he shifted to get more comfortable and gasped as the movement ground his own erection against his jeans. 

Jed’s hand cupped Quentin’s skull and pushed him closer. “Let’s try something else. Get all of it in your mouth.” 

There wasn’t much to do but try. Jed wasn’t letting up and he’d have to jerk his head back if he wanted to avoid Jed’s cock nudging the back of his throat. In the real world, he had no doubts that he would have gagged. He let his throat go slack, relaxed as much as possible, and closed his eyes as the sensation of Jed’s cock splitting his throat open overtook his own need crying for attention. 

“There you go. That’s it,” Jed murmured when his cock throbbed in Quentin’s throat and Quentin was fighting not to choke. “Good boy. Look so good down there.”

The camera clicked again. “ _Just_ like that.”

He tried to pull back to breathe and suddenly discovered that he couldn’t. Jed held his head in place, crushing his mouth and nose against black leather. He set his palms against Jed’s thighs and pushed, a startled, worried noise escaping his throat. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” breathy and smug, still refusing to let Quentin pull back to breathe. Hitting Jed’s thighs didn’t make him let up either, so Quentin fisted his hands in the shroud and cried out again. Jed didn’t last long after that; didn’t let him breathe until he’d come down his throat, pulled out to splatter cum in his mouth and on his face. Quentin was too busy gasping for breath to be indignant. His hands dropped to his sides. 

The camera shutter clicked, and he looked up like an idiot, and Jed took another picture of him before tucking the camera away. 

“Can’t say I’m not a man of my word, Quen,” Jed said magnanimously as he draped the necklace around Quentin’s neck where it belonged. The cool leather of his gloves brushed Quentin’s ears and caught on his hair. He’d called him _Quen_. The only ones who ever called him that were Claudette, or Meg, or Nancy. His skin crawled. A great empty space inside of him yawned and ached. “Even if that was a shitty blowjob.”

Quentin stayed there on his knees as Jed tucked himself away, mussed his hair one more time, and jauntily bounced out into the halls. He couldn’t get the taste of Jed’s cum out of his mouth and it was drying, itchy and stickily, on his face. His necklace was a foreign weight now that he’d gotten used to not wearing it. He was disgusted with himself, tears welling up in his eyes again now that he was alone to not be ashamed of them. His skin crawled with humiliation and rage. 

He was so hard it hurt. 

**Author's Note:**

> I like this ship, I should not LIKE this ship, Quentin allows bad shit to happen to himself because he feels massive guilt over everything at all times and giving Danny a BJ is a fair punishment.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Tell me what you thought!


End file.
